In the weeks since my return, Katniss seems to have declined.
There was an initial burst of improvement. After I first saw her on the porch – dirty, hair a mess, clothed in practically rags under her father's hunting jacket – she had begun showering regularly, brushing her hair, and putting on clean clothes every day. I think she even went hunting once or twice. But since that early progress, she has stagnated. She's unbearably thin despite the fact that I bring her bread every morning. Her face is gaunt and seems to grow new shadows every day.
When I returned to District Twelve, I was still working through my own recovery. Though I am fine – Dr. Aurelius wouldn't have let me leave if I weren't – I know I'm not one hundred percent yet. So each morning, I drop off my bread, wave at Sae, and keep going. I'm not seeking her out.
But to be honest, my recovery isn't the only reason I've left her alone. I haven't wanted to push her because, ultimately, I want her to come to me. I want anything that happens between us to be her decision.
I may not have recovered every last one of my memories yet, but my love for Katniss isn't a memory. It is as much a part of me as my need to wake up and bake bread every morning. As much as I need to see the way my colors combine on a canvas, I need to see the way the sun reflects in her eyes. It's just who I am. But I can give her space. I need to give her space.
At least, that's what I thought until I saw her this afternoon. Resting on my porch after a day working with the crews in town, I watched her leave Haymitch's house, and it was the first time in weeks that I'd gotten a good look at her. It turned my stomach. I've seen her this thin only once before. I sat there frozen in horror as I realized she was wasting away before my eyes
I have to change my tactics.
I spend the next morning making a variety of pastries, which are still warm when I knock on her door. Sae motions for me to come in.
"Morning, Peeta," she says.
"Morning, Sae." I put down the plate of pastries and walk into the kitchen. She is scrambling eggs, and a plate of bacon sits on the counter. "Looks good," I say.
"I don't know why I bother," she says.
"Does she eat anything at all?"
"No. She picks at it."
"Sae, would you mind if I stay for breakfast this morning?"
"No, honey. Plenty for you, but she won't be down for hours still."
"Well, we'll see about that." I open a cabinet and pull out a small plate. I put on it a strawberry cream cheese Danish and an apple fritter, grab a napkin, and walk up the stairs.
Her door is closed and the hallway is dark. I quietly turn the doorknob and open the door.
She is lying in the middle of the bed with the sheet tucked around her. When I look at her face, I can tell she isn't sleeping even though her eyes are closed. I put the plate down on the bedside table.
"Katniss?"
She doesn't answer.
I sit down on the bed. "Katniss, I can tell you're awake. Please get up and eat something." She rolls away from me then, curling up in the fetal position. Through her shirt, I can see her bones protruding from her back.
"Katniss," I said. My voice is practically a whisper. I reach out and touch her back, rubbing my hand between her sharp shoulder blades. "I'm scared for you. I need you to talk to me."
Under my hand, I feel pressure. She leans into my hand, pushing back against me like a cat seeking affection. The realization shocks me and without thinking it through, I lie down on the bed and curl up behind her. I wrap one arm around her, grabbing her wrists and pulling her tight to my chest.
Her body feels like dead weight next to mine, but I can hear her breathing. My heart pounds in my chest. "It'll be OK," I say, though I scarcely believe it myself. It has to be OK. I can't lose her after everything else we've made it though.
She sighs deeply but remains quiet. Her breath becomes heavy and regular, and I can feel her body sinking into sleep. It doesn't take long for mine to follow her. "It'll be OK," I say again as I allow my brain to disengage.
I know that one of my biggest issues is sleep. Dr. Aurelius is most concerned that my inability to sleep will continually keep me in a place where I am prone to episodes. He proscribed some pills to help me sleep, but I try not to take them. Only when I have gone several days without substantial rest will I break down and take a pill. It does its job: it allows me to sleep, but when I wake, I'm groggy and hung over, feeling like I've been drinking with Haymitch all night. It's worth it – but just barely.
When I wake up several hours later next to Katniss, my first feeling is of the sheer bliss that a good sleep has brought. This must have been how I used to feel when I slept, before the reaping, before the games, before the capitol. This must be how sleep feels for everyone else. My brain doesn't hurt. I feel relaxed.
I'd forgotten what this is like.
My second thought concerns the weight pressed against my chest. At some point, I must have shifted to my back, and she has followed me. She is curled in a ball with her head buried in my side, arms pulled tightly around my stomach.
My waking has roused her in turn, and she begins to move slowly, stretching out her legs first and then her neck before opening her eyes. She sees me, and the furrow I know so well, the one that stretches across her forehead and descends between her eyes, emerges on her face.
I wait for her reaction. I know it will not be good. But after picking her head up off the bed to take in her surroundings, she scoots up so that her head rests on the pillow. She closes her eyes again.
I'm not sure what to make of this. I'm awake now and won't fall back asleep. I can believe, though, that she might need more rest.
So I gingerly get up from the bed and head to the bathroom down the hall to wash up. I scrub my face with cool water and look at myself in the mirror. I can see the result of good sleep on my face.
Descending the stairs, I throw out Sae's well-intentioned but now cold eggs (and really, I can't blame her for not eating them). I root around in the refrigerator and pull out ingredients for an omelet to accompany the bacon and grits Sae has also prepared.
I'm hungry and used to being on my own, and Katniss is, of course, skilled in being stealthy. So I'm startled when I feel her sidle up behind me, placing her head in the space between my shoulder blades and wrapping an arm around my waist
It's so unlike Katniss. She's never been one to crave this kind of comfort. I move the pan of eggs off the heat but then just stand there, letting her warmth fill me. Finally, I turn around to her. Her hair is brown and wavy but it lacks the luster it used to have. She looks up at me and the hollows in her cheeks haunt me. I run my hand across her cheek.
"Did you sleep?"
She nods. "Yes."
"You haven't been sleeping? Regularly?"
"No," she admits in a low voice. She seems so broken.
"Will you eat for me? And then maybe we'll try to sleep again."
She nods and moves back against me, resting her head on my chest. My arms come around her again. The fact that Katniss is seeking physical solace is not lost on me, and I can't help but think that leaving her alone all this time was the wrong decision. She's been holed up in here languishing while I wanted my ego assuaged. Stupid stupid. I know better now.
I give her a last squeeze and then pull away, determined not to ruin a second batch of eggs, especially when she so desperately needs to eat them. "Let me finish this," I say to her.
She looks up at me, and any doubts I might have had about her dissipate. She needs me – right now, just for basic survival. But that's the only thing important right now, and it's more than enough.
She slowly gains weight. I know we have to take this gradually, so I begin feeding her small meals multiple times a day. I take over breakfast from Sae, who begins coming every other day now to bring us dinner.
And I begin spending each night with her because I've realized that for both of us, salvation lies in sleep. My nights have become infinitely better, and not just because she curls up in my arms each night. My nightmares are so infrequent now. Rarely do I wake rigid and sweating flushed with visions of her in agony or death, and even when I do, the first thing I feel is her body against mine. The first thing I see is her face relaxed and tranquil. The nightmares do not hold me any longer.
And her nightmares, though much more frequent than mine, do not keep her from the fortifying rest she desperately needs. She no longer lies awake at night too frightened of nightmares to drift off. Though she still has them almost every night, I am there to wake her, comfort her, hold her so she can return to sleep.
My body is stronger now, and I can see hers gaining strength, too. Her hips don't jut out as much as they used to. Her ribs aren't quite as visible. It's a slow process, but it's a process.
And that's all I allow myself to think about. The process. Getting her better. Getting her healthy again. I keep at bay any thoughts of what happens next. What will become of us when she does get better. It's simply a luxury I don't allow myself in the face of the near-catastrophe from which I'm trying to bring her back.
I realize soon enough that Katniss doesn't use any rooms in her house except the living room, the kitchen, and her bedroom. I didn't think much about it until I once saw her walk through the hallway and speed up as she passed Prim's room. When I leave our memory book in the study one day, she refuses to go in there to get it.
This house is full of ghosts, memories both good and bad. And that's when I decide to move us to my house, a place I've spent little time.
I bring up the subject one night over dinner. Sae has supplied us this night with vegetable soup, and I've made cornbread. We're dipping the bread in the broth when I mention it. She freezes, the next bite of bread half-way to her mouth.
"It doesn't have to be forever," I say, "but I think a more neutral place might be better for you right now."
She puts the cornbread back down on her plate and swallows bleakly. "I don't want to leave her behind," she says quietly.
"You won't. Not ever. But Katniss, you're haunted here. Half of the house you won't even go in."
She looks troubled and her eyebrows furrow as she thinks about it.
"You can bring with you whatever you want," I tell her. "I'm not trying to take you away from those you love. But Dr. Aurelius says that to move forward we have to start new routines. And I just think this house is trapping you in old routines somehow."
She doesn't answer, so I say, "Promise me you'll just think about it?"
She nods.
She disappears for a little while after dinner. I'm afraid she's not yet ready for what I've asked of her. I finish up the dishes and then find her in her bedroom. My heart drops to see that she's pulled out a suitcase.
"Are you sure?" I say from the doorway.
She looks up at me. "Not really," she admits. "But I think maybe you're right."
"Can I help?"
"No. This is good enough for now." She closes the suitcase and zips it up. She
picks up a framed photograph of her mother and Prim on her way out.
In my bed that night, I can tell she is not sleeping. She has rolled away from me as she does sometimes when things are a little bit harder. Turning to her, I reach out and rub the space between her shoulder blades like I did that day I first found her in bed.
She breathes deeply and I feel her push back against my hand. I have an idea. "Lie on your stomach," I say, sitting up and scooting next to her. I begin to rub her back, starting with her neck and shoulders and working my way down to her hips. I am gratified to feel the flesh of her back, no longer just bones as it was that first day. She sighs as I finish up, and I can tell her body is heavier, more relaxed.
I hear a muffled, "Thank you," as I lie back down. It takes me a long time to fall asleep. I'm so glad I got her out of that house. I really believe it was hindering her progress, but I'm afraid maybe I've pushed too hard. Too much too soon.
At some point I drop off to sleep because when I wake up, her body has found me again. In the darkness, she has pressed herself against me, one leg wrapped around my good leg, her arm thrown over my waist. I hold her tightly as I sink back into unconsciousness.
She is hunting again. The first day she returns to the woods, she comes home empty handed. But there is color in her face, and she is smiling. It is a good day.
It happens soon after. I wake slightly in the night to feel her nestled against me. I am almost back asleep when I realize that her hand is moving against my skin, slowly and lightly running up and down my side. She is awake.
I shift slightly so I can face her. Bright eyes look up at me in the darkness. "Peeta?"
"Yes?"
"What do you..." she struggles with her words. "How do you feel about… about this? About me being with you at night?"
I think I understand her implication. My arm tightens involuntarily around her. "This is my favorite time of day," I reply simply.
She lies quietly for a moment before her voice returns to me in the darkness. "Mine, too," she whispers. She shifts, bringing her hand lightly to my face, smoothing my forehead. My eyes close as she lightly, lightly traces my eyebrows, eyes, brings her thumb across my cheek, and hovers over my lips. I open my eyes then, catching hers as she reaches for me.
I hear her quick inhale, and then her lips are on mine, tentative. I try not to move, try to control the rush through my body that threatens to overwhelm me. She brushes my lips once, twice, before lifting her head and catching my eyes again and resuming her hand's exploration, now finding my chin, my ear, my hair.
My body reacts physically to the sensation as all the emotions I've locked up, all the desire I've held at bay over the past months comes crashing over me in one big tidal wave.
She feels it, too. She must, because she says my name again. I raise my own hand to her, cupping her jaw in my palm. I hear it again, that soft inhalation as her lips meet mine. And then she is kissing me, opening her mouth to me, pulling on my lips with her own, searching for my tongue. And I am overcome.
It takes all of my self control to break the kiss. I pull her into my arms, rolling so that she is on top of me, our bodies flush together. Her weight anchors me and helps me control the immense emotion that is threatening to erupt.
This can't happen tonight. Neither one of us is ready, but the future is clear now. She has come to me, and I allow myself the freedom to look beyond this day.
We lie together in silence, my hands slowly rubbing her back. "What are you thinking?" she asks, her voice again rising from the depth of night.
"I am happy."